


The Long Night

by DeutchRemy



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2020-12-09 13:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20995811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeutchRemy/pseuds/DeutchRemy
Summary: The night that El closes the gate is a very long one for Hopper and Joyce as they care for their kids.  Please read the notes.  Also, I love reviews!  Rated for realistic bodily functions and language.





	1. Only the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to warn you that this story is rather graphic, hence the rating. No, I'm not talking graphic as in sex or violence, I'm talking graphic as in exhausted, traumatized children who are too sick to control their bodily functions. I wanted to write something that is, in my opinion, realistic and gritty. I wanted to show what the aftermath of Will and El's experiences in S2E9 might entail if such events were to actually happen in real life. And finally I wanted to show a couple of parents as they struggle together to take care of their kids during the first few days after the gate is closed.

The Byers’ House  
10:13 PM

“Help.” Nancy states plainly, walking into the dimly-lit living room, one hand on Eleven’s shoulder, the other hand in front of the girl, pinching her nose shut with a wad of tissues. Her tone is calm for El’s sake but adequately conveys what she’s trying to say:

We need an adult.  
*****  
At Joyce’s request Nancy had helped El bathe while Hopper had perfected the worried dad pace outside the bathroom, rubbing his hand down his face more times than could be counted, until Joyce convinced him to sit down in the kitchen for a coffee. All of the other kids had already gone home, including Mike, who threw a fit and, Nancy was sure, sulked in Jonathan’s car the entire way. The kid had glared daggers at her when she told him she’d be home in the morning.

Nancy knew that her brother had feelings for Eleven and understood why he was furious with the Chief for hiding her from him. But as much as she loved her brother, she tended to agree with Hopper that El’s safety was the top priority and that now she needed her rest more than she needed a bunch of overexcited boys jumping all over her.  
El’s behavior when Hopper had carried her into the Byers’ home earlier that evening should have clued Mike and his friends in a bit - though just this side of conscious, she had gripped the back of Hopper’s jacket so tightly that her knuckles were white, and had buried her bloodied face further into his neck when the boys had crowded around them. When a spot on the couch was vacated for them Hopper had sat the girl down next to him, hip to hip, and the poor thing had burrowed as far into the burly man’s side as she could while sporting one hell of a thousand yard stare.

Punk on the exterior, exhausted and traumatized little 13-year-old girl on the interior. 

Mike had backed off, then, probably a bit peeved but not letting it show, maybe coming to the realization that a huge part of loving someone is respecting their needs and their space. He also had to understand, Nancy told herself, that while he may have been the first person to show El kindness, she’d only lived with him for a week; if she understood the timeline correctly, the girl had lived with Hopper for about a year. He fed her, clothed her, taught her...loved her. And at this point in her young life, she needed a father more than she needed a boyfriend. Nancy was sure, though, that once Eleven recovered her strength and no longer required someone to nurse her back to health, she’d stop clinging to the chief and would show interest in Mike again.

Time heals all wounds, after all. 

Nancy planned to stay at the Byers’ that night. While she was comforted by the idea of her little brother being seen safely home, she felt an obligation not only to Joyce but to Jonathan and Steve, too, who was determined too badly injured to go home to a parent-less house and was subsequently plopped in an armchair next to the TV with a bag of frozen peas on his face. So when Joyce had asked her if she wouldn’t mind helping El in the bathroom, Nancy saw it as the excuse she needed to stay.

Joyce had watched the scene unfold as Hopper had walked his daughter into the bathroom and then attempted to pass her off to Nancy. The girl, despite trusting Nancy, had clung to Hopper’s arm with a surprising level of strength the moment she realized he was leaving her. Her face had crumpled immediately and she’d looked up at him, pleading wordlessly, tears rolling down her cheeks at an alarming rate.

Don't leave me.

Eleven had, in several ways, the intellectual and emotional development of a small child, so they weren't surprised when she didn’t understand words or social cues. But this…this would have been described by a psychiatrist, had one been there, as regressive behavior - traumatized so badly that she needs her parent near at all times.

Joyce knew about that all too well. Will had been a textbook case in the first few months after his ordeal last year. Clinginess, nightmares, not sleeping unless he was with her, bedwetting, the whole nine yards. Hopper hadn’t filled her in yet on what closing the gate had entailed - she suspected he probably hadn’t fully processed it himself - but if her current behavior was any indication, Joyce knew he and El were likely in for a rough few months.

The kid was near hysteria and it was beginning to look either like Hopper, near tears now himself, was going to have to stay in the bathroom or they’d have to forgo the bath altogether. But he’d sat her down on the toilet lid for about twenty minutes and spoken to her in soothing tones, and rubbed her back, and promised her that he’d be waiting for her right down the hall, and slowly she calmed. 

Her nose had begun to bleed again after her bath, as Nancy was halfway done getting her dressed. A startled Nancy pushed tissues into her hands and hurriedly pulled Joyce’s spare sweatpants over El's hips. She’d gotten one sock on the girl when she realized just how freely the blood was running, abandoned the other sock on the toilet lid, and wrenched open the bathroom door.

*****

“Shit.” Hopper says, holding his arms out to his surrogate daughter and taking the tissue from a shell-shocked Nancy. El leans her back against him and with both hands grabs onto his left forearm, which he’s wrapped across her chest, holding her securely to him. He can feel blood soaking through the tissue onto his fingertips and his stomach does a flip flop when he removes it, as a red stream flows from her nose and down her lips.

“Get me the rest of the box, will you?” He asks nobody in particular, putting the sodden tissue back under her nose for the time being, though it absorbs no more, and blood begins to run freely around it and onto his hand. “It’s okay, kid. You’re gonna be okay. I gotcha.” El can hear Hopper’s heart drumming against his chest, and he can feel her own, bounding against the arm he has wrapped around her.

Nancy runs back to the bathroom, retrieves the tissue box, and holds it worriedly in front of him. He snatches five tissues and presses all of them to El’s nose at once, tossing the old one into the waste basket that Joyce offers. 

If anybody were to ask him, he wouldn’t lie. He’d tell them the truth, straight up - he’s scared shitless. This is the worst nosebleed he’s ever seen her have. Typically they manifest as a sluggish ooze from her left nostril only; tonight he’s been witness to what he’s positive are her three most profuse bleeds ever. Although there’s no ear involvement like there was at the gate, both nostrils are affected, and the blood is bright red and thin enough to run like a faucet. 

Thin because she’s probably low on platelets, he tells himself, and his stomach flip flops again. Sarah had suffered from low platelet counts during her treatment.

It was about five months into their life together that it occurred to Hopper that if anything were to happen to Eleven, he’d most likely just end it all. Swallow a bunch of pills and call it a day. What else would there be to live for? Sure, he had his friendship with Joyce and her boys, but they wouldn't be able to fill the void that El left.

The moment Sarah had been born, Hopper had ceased to be a man and had become a dad. When she passed away he still considered himself a dad, though he had nobody to be a dad to. Then El came into his life. She needed a dad. He needed a daughter. He was the final piece to complete her puzzle, and she his.

Their short life together is beginning to flash in front of his eyes, and he hears Joyce speaking but she sounds like she’s a mile away.

“Sit her down, Hop.” She tries to keep her voice even but the sudden burst of adrenaline has her heart pounding in her chest.

“Sit down, kid.” Hopper mentally shakes himself out of the panic he was careening towards and eases Eleven down into the lounge chair behind her and bends over in front of her, pinching her nostrils shut. “Tilt your head down, kid, head down, head down. I don’t want you to choke.” 

“Hop…” El whines, fear in her voice, swallowing quickly as blood makes its way into her throat, despite her position. She reaches forward, not looking up, and grabs onto his shirt anxiously, desperately trying to find an anchor.

“I’m here, punkin', I’m here, I’m gonna make you all better.” He takes a moment to run a hand soothingly across the one that has a fistful of his shirt, giving it a quick squeeze before grabbing five more tissues, removing the current ones, making the switch quickly so El can’t see how soaked through with blood they are. Nevertheless she feels the warm rush of new blood cover her lips in the millisecond that there’s no tissue there, and wails in fear.

“Make it stoooop...”

“I would if I could, sweetie. Just relax, okay? Breathe slowly through your mouth.”

“In and out, atta girl.” Joyce encourages her. “Uh-uh, head down, honey.” She’s crouching next to Hop and places a hand on El’s damp curls, gently pushing her head down when she tries to lift it to look into the faces of those who love her, for what she fears may be the last time.

“This is the third one tonight, Joyce. I got it stopped the first time then she started bleeding again in the cruiser.” Jim Hopper, the 6 foot 3 burly police chief of Hawkins, Indiana, is fighting back tears. For at least the second time that night. El has begun to cry as well.

“El, El, honey, I know this is scary but try not to cry, okay?” Joyce tells her, rubbing her back soothingly. Any mother knows that tears make nosebleeds worse.  
Hopper takes some more tissues from the box and does the swap once again, cursing out loud when blood continues to run freely over her lips.

“Hop, don’t panic, you’re just gonna get her more worked up.” Joyce warns. She grips El’s wrist and feels her pulse - it’s hard and fast, pounding against her skin. Nancy stands in the doorway, feeling useless, and is grateful when Joyce addresses her.

“Nancy, there’s an oven mitt above the stove. Can you grab that and fill it with ice cubes?”

“Huh? Oh yes, yes, of course!”

"I'll help you." The voice comes from Steve, who's pushing himself out of his chair, probably tired of feeling useless amid the tension in the living room.

“Ice cubes?” Hopper inquires.

“We’ll put it on the back of her neck; it might help slow the bleed. My mother swore by it.”

“Hop...” The kid in front of them whines again, then coughs as blood makes its way down her throat.

Hopper, in his rising panic, lifts El out of the chair then, plops himself down in it, and sits her on his lap. He places his left hand on the top of her head, tilting it down, and his right arm wraps securely around her, pinching her nose shut again, smearing the blood on her face that was allowed to drip freely during the transition. He holds her tight, and she finally begins to relax. 

Nancy and Steve emerge from the kitchen with the ice-filled oven mitt. Nancy hands it to Joyce, who holds it in place on the back of El's neck.

As El further relaxes into Hopper's arms her blood pressure lowers and the bleed begins to taper off. Five minutes go by before Hop needs to replace the tissue, a vast improvement over the one minute of last time, and the next one after that is only half-soaked.

If Hopper believed in miracles, he’d say this was one.

He doesn’t let his guard down, though, until the next tissue comes away nearly clean. He holds it to her nose for another twenty minutes before he’s brave enough to toss it in the waste basket and not reach for more. Exhausted, he sits back in the chair, and El leans back against his chest. He wraps one arm protectively around her belly.  
Before dozing off Hopper vaguely recalls the sound of stocking feet pattering against the carpet, the kitchen sink running, and Joyce bending over in front of them, cleaning the blood from his kid’s face and neck.


	2. The longest night...well, technically morning

The Byers’ House  
1:24 AM

The house is silent. The bedroom dark. Joyce’s baby boy is fast asleep in her arms, his nose stuffy from all the crying he did earlier and making little whistling sounds with each breath. She extricates herself from him and slowly eases herself out of bed, hoping she doesn’t wake him. Padding down the hall into the living room, she’s greeted by the same scene she left several hours prior.

Hopper’s dead to the world, his head laying on the back of the chair, face towards the ceiling, mouth open wide and snoring like a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerine plant. El is still on his lap, though she shifted a bit and is now curled sideways against his chest, one leg tucked underneath herself, the other draped over Hopper’s knee. Joyce regrets allowing her to go directly to sleep instead of forcing a glass of sugary juice into her beforehand. Her color doesn’t look too bad, though. Hopefully the immediate deep sleep will compensate for the severe low blood sugar that accompanies that amount of blood loss.

Her gaze goes to Hopper again and she grimaces; he’s going to be a sore bear when he wakes up if he keeps his neck in that position all night.

He must have sensed he was being watched because he opens his eyes and nearly growls as he picks his stiff neck up off the chair back. Then he notices the kid on his lap and the whole wretched night comes back to him. He can barely make out Joyce standing in front of him, just watching.

“Hop?” She whispers, “You know, I think she’ll be okay if you want to put her in my bed with Will.”

He’s fully awake now and looking at her like she’s mad. “What if she starts bleeding again? She could choke in her sleep -“

She puts a hand out to stop him. “Hop, I know you’re worried, but you both are exhausted and you’re not gonna sleep for shit like this. Either of you. We’ll prop her up on a bunch of pillows and she’ll be fine. We’ll drag the armchairs in there so you can watch her all night if you want.”

******

The bedroom is silent save for Will’s whistling breathing and the low thump-thump of Hopper’s boots on the carpeted floor. El somehow stays asleep the entire time, her breath puffing gently against Hopper's neck. Joyce goes to the other side of the bed, which she recently vacated, and props the pillows up against the headboard.

“Right here, Hop.” She sees the reluctance in the man’s tired eyes and sighs inwardly. “She’s gonna be okay, Hop. We’ll sit up all night with them if we have to.” She gives his back a tiny rub as if to say “I know exactly what you’re feeling right now”, and Hopper acquiesces, bending over and laying the child down on the still-warm sheets. When he moves to stand up he realizes El has a surprisingly firm grip on the back of his shirt.

“It’s alright, kid, I’m gonna be right here in this chair all night, okay?” She doesn’t release him so he rubs a hand down his tired face. “Tell you what, how bout I sit here with you until you go to sleep, hmm? Sound like a plan?”

The girl’s eyes are watery and there are dark circles underneath them but he can still see the gears turning in her head through them. Too exhausted to talk, she simply nods her head.

“Okay. Now shut your eyes and go to sleep and I’ll be right here with you.”

“Mr. Bear?” It’s the first thing she’s said since wailing Hopper’s name in fear hours ago.

“You want Mr. Bear? Sweetie, Mr. Bear’s at home. Tell you what,” he strips his flannel off, the one that he tossed into the backseat of the blazer last week because he got too warm and which thus avoided incineration in the lab’s furnace, “how bout you cuddle with this instead?”

El smiles, a very teeny smile, but a smile nonetheless, and takes the shirt with shaky hands, bunching it up and tucking it under her left arm. She then shoves her thumb into her mouth and is asleep within minutes.

Joyce watches as Hopper places a kiss on the little girl’s cheek before pushing himself up and plopping down in the chair next to the bed. Before he can fall asleep a memory stirs.

..............

“Hey kid, I gotcha some stuff.” He sets two large paper bags down on the couch next to El, who’s curled up in a blanket. He gives her bare feet a quick tickle and she jerks them away, freeing up space for him to sit. The residual cold of the outdoors is seeping off his coat, making El shiver. 

“C’mon, sit up, let’s see what’s in here.” He pats the cushion right next to him and the girl sits up and crawls over, plopping herself down next to his left hip. Hop digs into one bag. “Alright, first up, and very important...underpants.” He pulls out a clear plastic package with ten pairs of rolled up girl’s underpants. “Looks like we got pink, white, purple.”

“Pretty...” She gives him a small smile and fingers the package, in total awe that they come in colors other than white.

“Yeah, they’re pretty. But you know that underpants are private things, right? Once the bad men stop looking for you and you’re able to go out in the world, I don’t want you showing those to boys, okay? They’re pretty but only for you to find pretty, okay?”

She nods her head slowly, staring at him, and he’s worried he may have overloaded her with information just then.

“Okay, good. But, uh, I’m not positive I got you the right size, so after I’ve shown you everything try them on and if they’re too big or too small let me know and I’ll buy you a different size. Sound good?”

“Yes. Um...thank you.”

Hopper smiles. “No need to thank me, kid; I couldn’t have you running around with no underpants for much longer. Alright, up next we have socks. Socks are also important, especially ones that fit you.” He hands her a plastic package of multicolored socks. “Now your feet can be warm for longer than the two minutes it would take for mine to slip off your feet.”

He stands up and goes into the kitchen and rummages around in a drawer. He emerges with a pair of scissors and cuts the top off the package, then holds it upside down so all the socks fall out onto the sofa.

“Here, pick out a pair to wear now, and we’ll put the rest in the washing machine, yeah?”

It takes the kid a minute of what looks like very thoughtful thinking before she settles on a white pair with blue polka dots. “Good choice.”

Next out of the bag is two pairs of long-sleeve pajamas. One pair has little Winnie The Pooh characters on it, while the other is covered in tiny flowers with little ruffles on the cuffs and neck. “These are pajamas, okay, you wear them when you go to sleep.”

“Puh-jah-mas.”

“There you go. Look at you, learning new words every day.” That earns him another small smile. “Alright now, this second bag is more fun.”

Out of the second bag comes a coloring book and box of crayons, a slightly-easier jigsaw puzzle than the one El’s been working on, a drawing pad with markers, a diary with a lock and key, pencils, a board game, and a stuffed bear. She’s intrigued by everything but it’s the bear that makes her face light up. He hands it to her and she takes it tentatively, hugging it to her chest and smiling at him.

She’d cried the first night there. She’d waited until she was snuggled up in her bed for the first time, under a pile of blankets, a huge t-shirt of Hopper’s serving as pajamas. She was quiet about it but Hopper could hear her sniffling anyway. At first he was afraid that she didn’t like him, or that she was scared of him after all, but then he’d remembered that it was so much for a child to take in. To go from spending the first twelve years of life in a laboratory, to stowing away in some boy’s basement for a week, to spending a month in the cold wilderness, to living with a big burly man in a dusty cabin. The kid’s got a lot to digest.

Hopper had laid awake that night, listening to the poor thing sniffle, debating whether he should go in and offer her comfort or if that might be too much too soon. He’d opted for the former, going through every box and closet in the place beforehand, hoping to find a long-lost stuffed animal he could give her, but coming up empty-handed. He’d have given her Sarah’s tiger had Diane not kept it for herself.

So he’d knocked on her door, creaked it open, and walked in when she told him with her watery eyes that she didn’t mind. He’d taken a seat on the edge of her bed and cautiously placed a hand on her blanketed shoulder.

“You doin’ okay, kid?”

She’d shrugged, the thumb in her mouth preventing any words from coming out, though he figured she didn’t have many for him, anyway.

“I know this is a lot for you to process. Heck, it’s a lot for me to process.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I just want you to know that you can come to me. For anything. Daytime or nighttime. If you want to talk, or if you want a glass of water, or if you want me to just sit with you. Here.” He’d stood up, then, shedding his flannel. He balled it up and tucked it under her arm. “You can hug this if you want, until I can get you a proper stuffed animal, yeah?”

She'd nodded and squeezed the shirt and given him a little smile in return.

Hopper smiles as the kid hugs her new teddy bear.

“Like, um…lion.”

“Yeah he’s kind of like your stuffed lion. This guy here is a bear, though. Every kid is supposed to have a stuffed bear. Wanna give him a name?”

“Um...not sure yet.”

“Think about it and let me know, okay? For now, let’s make some dinner.”

“Th-thank you.” She hugs him, then, tentatively, and although they’ve only been together for a few days Hopper feels a surge of love for the kid.

*****

The Byers’ House  
2:52 AM

“Mom? Mommy?”

Joyce awakens to the sound of her younger son crying. Will? Baby??? Oh God, what’s happening now? She practically leaps out of the chair, ignoring the exhaustion-and-sleep-induced head rush that threatens to knock her on her ass, and is crouched at her son’s side in an instant.

“I’m here, baby. What’s the matter?”

“I um, uh...” He shifts uncomfortably in the bed, rolling over so he’s on his side, facing her, and then begins to cry. “I’m sorry, mommy, I’m sorry!” He squeaks out through his tears.

“Sorry for what, baby? Sorry for what? What’s going on?” She flicks on the bedside lamp. Then she smells it. It’s unmistakable. Joyce stands and carefully peels the comforter off of her son and has to put a hand to her mouth to stifle her cry of shock. She remains calm, for her boy, who is struggling to get into a sitting position while clasping a hand against his stomach.

“I’m sorry, mommy.” He says again, and Joyce has to catch him as he suddenly pushes himself from the bed and tries and fails to stand on shaky legs. “Mom, it hurts.” He’s grimacing, and Joyce can hear his stomach bubbling as she holds him up.

Hopper sees light under his eyelids and opens them, jumping up from his chair when he sees a panicked-looking Joyce struggling to hold her son upright. There’s a pungent, eggy smell in the closed room and a decent amount of liquid the color of creamed coffee that’s formed a puddle in the indent that Will’s body left in the mattress. At first Hopper thinks that it’s just a shadow but he notices the same mess on the butt of the boy’s pajamas and riding up the back of his nightshirt, puts two and two together, and says “Shit”.

He glances at El, sleeping peacefully, apparently oblivious to the smell and the commotion, and realizes he’s going to have to get her out of that bed so he can change the sheets. 

“Mom, mom, bathroom! I need - I need to go again!” Will wails and Joyce nearly drops him onto the carpet as he struggles to free himself from her grasp, so desperate to get to the toilet that he doesn’t care if his legs give out. Hopper tears his eyes away from El, worried that she might wake up and roll over into the mess, and stumbles across the room to help Joyce, tripping over a pair of sneakers. At that instant Jonathan throws the door open, having heard the wailing from his bedroom and fearing the worst.

“What is it, mom, what’s happening? What’s going on?” His position in the doorway allows Joyce to pass Will to him easily, and for a moment Jonathan is confused before his sleep-muddled brain can process his mother’s urgent “Bathroom, sweetie, bathroom, please!” He hauls his kid brother off his feet and nearly drags him down the hall, Joyce close on his heels, and Hopper watches the three of them disappear into he bathroom.

“Shit.” he mutters again, rubbing his hand down his face. He doesn’t really have any other words to use at the moment. He contemplates knocking on the bathroom door, asking if they need any help, but decides against it. Will has his mother and his big brother; Hop would just be in the way in the tiny bathroom and the kid would be humiliated by his presence. He still needs to get El out of the bed anyway before she rolls into it; it’s the kind of mess that makes a parent consider just throwing the whole baby away and starting over. Well, at the very least he’d hose her down and burn the clothes.

He stumbles over the same pair of shoes on his way back over to the other side of the bed. El is still fast asleep somehow; even at his most exhausted Hopper could never sleep through such a smell. He tries to ignore the mess and the bile rising in his throat as he bends over and moves the comforter down her legs. I will not puke on my kid. I will not puke on my kid. I will not puke on my kid. He repeats this mantra over and over in his head.

“C’mere, kid.” He hooks his hands under her armpits and hoists her up against his chest, placing an arm under her rear end for the short trip to the chair. She lifts her head up briefly before plunking it back onto his shoulder and whining into his ear.

“Mmmmmm...not time to get up yet.” She wraps her arms around his neck and digs her fingers into the back of his shirt.

“Yeah yeah, I know. That was a good sentence, though.” He rubs her back reassuringly before setting her down in the chair and helping her curl up.

“Will?” She asks, looking around the room before getting dizzy and covering her eyes with her hand.

“In the bathroom. He had a bit of an accident in the bed. Your head hurt, El?”

“Yes.” She says weakly, still covering her eyes.

Hopper tucks a spare blanket under her chin and kisses her forehead.

“I’m gonna get the bed changed and then you can get back in, okay?”

“Kay…”

Okay. He steels himself for the task, beginning by tossing the pillows and blankets onto the floor so he can easily get the sheets off. He strips the soiled bottom sheet, wads it up, and as he’s wondering what the hell to do with it, Jonathan returns to the room with a brand new trash bag, which he shakes out and holds open for him. Yeah, there’s no salvaging that sheet.

“How’s your brother?”

“Um…okay, I guess. Mom’s in with him. Where’s the top sheet?” 

“Here. I stripped it with the blankets.”

“Is it soiled?”

Hopper frees it from the comforter, static electricity making the job difficult, and inspects it. “Yeah, there’s a fair amount on it. Blankets seem to have been spared, though.”

“Chuck it.” Jonathan holds the trash bag out to him.

“It’s soaked into the mattress, too.” Hopper notes, indicating a large light brown stain on the white fabric.

“I’m gonna scrub out what I can.” Jonathan sighs as he sprays the entire area with what smells like bleach and water and then tackles it with a rag, scrubbing fiercely. He then sprays the area again, folds the rag in quarters, and scrubs some more. When he’s finished the mattress appears substantially restored. “There’s clean sheets in the closet, top shelf.”

“Of course. Look, why don’t you go and help your mom and brother and I can finish up in here.”

“Nah, getting sheets on this bed is a two person job. And there really isn’t much more I could do to help in there. Bathroom’s kind of small. Mom’s gonna come get me when she’s ready to get Will out of the bath.”

“You’re a good kid, you know that?”

Jonathan smiles, then. “Thanks. I mean that. Uh, my dad never really had anything that nice to say about me.”

“Your dad, and I use that word loosely, is a moron who wouldn’t know a good thing if it came up and bit him on the ass.”


	3. Nearly 4

The Byers’ House  
3:58 AM

When El opens her eyes again the room is dark. She’s warm and comfortable and lying against squishy pillows, and it’s then that she realizes she’s back in bed. Not her bed, though. Joyce's bed. Other than the quiet rustling of the pillow under her head as she stirs just a tad, the only sounds in the room come from Hopper and Will. The former is snoring lightly while the latter is still whistling through a stuffy nose. She can’t hear Joyce but she sees her at the foot of the bed on Will’s side, sprawled out across her chair, her mouth slightly open, though not gaping like Hop’s.

The air smells like cleaning chemicals - she remembers that smell from the lab - and not like that weird eggy smell from earlier. What was that, anyway? Maybe Jonathan was cooking eggs for breakfast? No...it's too early for breakfast.

She has to pee. She turns onto her side to ease the pressure in her bladder but her entire body aches, and when the sheets move over the bare skin of her arms it feels like someone is scraping sandpaper against her. She's a bit dizzy, too, her vision swimming, so she closes her eyes but it doesn't help much. Her head hurts, too, more than it ever has before. It hurts all over, like there’s a massive thick rubber band wrapped tightly around it, and that’s just for starters. Hop’s flannel is still bunched up in her arms, and she squeezes it tightly to her chest, the familiar smells of cigarettes and his deodorant the only thing keeping the tears at bay.

She feels like she’s been hit by a truck. It sort of reminds her of when she had the - what did Hopper call it, the flu? - earlier that year. Unable to find a comfortable position, she rolls onto her back again, but then the pressure in her bladder returns and she whines. She doesn’t do it on purpose, it just sort of comes out. Hopper stirs in his chair and then stands up, his knees and back cracking loudly.

“What’s the matter, kid?” He mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. They need to be quiet - Joyce only just got Will back to bed not even an hour ago, and he’d rather not wake them up. He feels his way over to the bed in the dark and grabs what he’s pretty sure is El’s foot under the blankets. Confident he has the correct child, he eases himself down to sit on the edge of the bed next to her hip, then reaches through the darkness to pat her head, a mop of curls confirming that this is indeed his kid. 

“Pee.”

Hopper prefers when she speaks in full sentences but he’ll give her a pass tonight.

“You need to go pee?”

She nods. “But hurt. All over.”

“You hurt all over? Where?” His eyes are soft as he pulls the blankets down from her chest so he can locate a hand. He finds one and squeezes it gently.

“All over.”

“Right,” he mentally slaps himself, “Sorry, my brain isn’t working correctly.” He slaps himself again as El’s eyes grow wide with concern. “No no, don’t worry, kid, I was joking. Adults like to say that sometimes when they accidentally say something stupid.”

The girl relaxes and he feels guilty for putting more stress on her than she already has.

“So you have to pee, huh? You think you can walk?” 

“I don't - don’t know.”

“We’ll give it a try, okay, and if you can’t make it I’ll give you a lift. Sound good?”

His eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness and he can just make out a very slow nod.

He'd feel more comfortable just carrying her, but he needs to see how she functions upright to determine if she'll be okay by herself in the bathroom. He's still working to reinforce the concept of privacy with the kid, but her safety is more important to him than modesty; if he needs to hold her up on the toilet while she pees then he's going to, social norms be goddamned. When your child is sick you do what you gotta do, and any parent worth their salt understands that.

“Okay, here we go, let’s sit you up.” Hopper bends down and slides an arm behind her back to ease her into a sitting position. Her shirt has ridden halfway up her back, and he notices her skin feels a little warmer than usual, but chalks it up to being in bed. “Atta girl.” He encourages her, pulling her shirt down and rubbing his hand in circles on her upper back. “Just sit here for a minute. I don’t want you getting up too fast.”

“Gotta pee.” She reminds him impatiently, as though he’s already forgotten why he’s helping her out of bed in the first place. Her skull is pounding and right now she wants nothing more than for Hop to just pick her up and hold her on his lap like he did when she had the flu. The idea of leaving the warm bed is loathsome, but if she doesn’t go to the bathroom she’s probably going to wet the bed, and she’d rather not disappoint Hopper, who was so proud of her when she’d finally managed to go two months straight without "having an accident", as he liked to put it.

“I know, I know, take it easy, kid. It’s just for a minute. If you stand up too quickly after lying down sometimes the blood doesn’t get to your head fast enough and you can fall down.” And after that blood loss last night, I am not taking ANY chances, he says to himself.

“Don’t want to fall.”

“I don’t want you to fall, either. So we wait.”

“Okay.”

They wait two minutes, just to be on the safe side. El’s beginning to squirm.

“Alright, you feel okay? Yeah? Uh-uh, leave the flannel here so you can put both arms around me. Okay, here we go.” He hooks his hands under the girl’s armpits and pulls her slowly into a standing position. “Hang onto me, I gotcha.”

El quickly wraps her arms around her dad’s waist, grabbing fistfuls of his tee shirt and whimpering a bit as she’s afraid she’s going to fall. She thought it was going to be easier than this. Lying in that bed, she didn’t realize just how weak she really was. Her legs feel like jelly and she tries to lock her knees but they won’t cooperate, and she sags a bit in Hop’s arms. “Can you straighten your legs, sweetheart?”

“Can't...gonna fall…” She whines, grabbing fistfuls of Hopper’s shirt like she did earlier that night at the lab. Her head pounds in time to her pulse and it makes her stomach churn, even though she hasn’t eaten in who knows how long. 

“No no, you’re not gonna fall, kiddo. I’m here, okay? I gotcha. I won't let you fall. Straighten your legs out some more, yeah? Atta girl, you got it.”

Joyce stirs as the couple make their way through the dark bedroom, passing her chair.

"Hmm...everything okay, Hop?" She mumbles, so exhausted she sounds drugged. 

"Yeah, just taking her to the bathroom." He whispers back.

"Need any help?"

"No no, we got it. Go back to sleep." Not only does Joyce desperately need her sleep, but Hopper doesn't want her to feel obligated to take care of his kid in addition to both of her own.

They make their way to the bathroom slowly, one foot in front of the other. El supports most of her own weight but Hop keeps his hands under her armpits and guides her as she walks in front of him. She's able to hold herself up on the toilet, though he helps her get her pants down and doesn't leave until he's positive she's not going to keel over. He closes the door behind him and paces back and forth in the hallway, running a hand through his hair. As soon as the toilet flushes and he hears the sink running, he opens the door and collects her, grabbing a towel from the rack and drying her hands, worried that her fingers will get cold if she doesn’t get them completely dry.

“Here we go,” he whispers as he helps her navigate the dark bedroom, his hands again under her armpits, making sure she stays up. "Dizzy..." El complains, whimpering with sudden anxiety. "Yeah? It's okay, kid, I'm gonna get you back in bed and then I think you'll feel better, alright?" "Scared..." "I gotcha, El. I'm here, okay? Daddy's here. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Watch out for the chair leg; don’t stub your toe." He says as they pass behind Joyce's chair. Wait wait wait, the bed’s kinda high, lemme give you a lift.” He stops her as she tries to get a knee up on the mattress and turns her around so she’s facing him. He picks her up and sits her on the mattress, then grabs her ankles and pulls her legs up, tucking them under the heavy lump of blankets at the foot of the bed.

"Still dizzy?"

She nods and covers her eyes with her forearm. Hopper reaches out and pats her hair gently. "Just close your eyes and it should go away in a few minutes. I'll sit with you until you feel better, yeah?"

El nods again and closes her eyes, relaxing into his touch. She moves her arm away from her eyes and lays it on her stomach.

"You want anything before you go back to sleep?" He whispers softly after several minutes, still petting her hair. "Water? Some juice, maybe?" He's disappointed when she shakes her head, concerned about her fluid levels after the blood loss from earlier, but reminds himself that as long as she's peeing a healthy amount she's probably okay. Breakfast will be in just a few hours, anyway, and he plans to get no fewer than two Eggos (depending on her stomach's tolerance, of course) with syrup and a tall glass of orange juice into her. Some sausage and eggs would be a plus but she's less likely to tolerate those. "Okay, kiddo. Try to get some more sleep, okay? I know it's been a rough night but hopefully you'll be able to sleep through til morning."

He plants a kiss on the child's forehead and turns to go back to his chair when she utters it, sleepily.

"Love you."

"I love you, too, kid."


	4. Couldn't find you

The Byers’ House  
5:59 AM

“Mom? Mommy?!?” Will looks around the room frantically. “MOM??? MOOOOOM?!?!” Hopper’s eyes slam open to find the boy in the bed sitting bolt upright, screaming into the darkness. “MOM IT’S DARK WHERE DID YOU GO??? MOOOOOOOOOM!!!!”

Shit.

By now Hopper has traversed the dangerous, shoe-strewn floor and is stumbling over to Will’s side of the bed, trying not to let the kid sense his panic. He bends over in front of him and firmly grabs his bony shoulders. 

“Will? Will, buddy, you’re okay. Just relax, I’m sure your mom’ll be back in a minute.”

“Hop?” The lump on the other side of the bed is facing them now. She’s clutching the flannel tightly to her chest, a look of startled fear on her face. Shit. In some ways this co-parenting thing he and Joyce sort of fell into tonight is working out really well, and in other ways Hopper just wishes he’d bundled El up and taken her back to the cabin straight from the lab. Just the two of them, her in her own clean bed, he in his chair, reading to her from one of her favorite books as she falls asleep. 

“It’s okay, El. Go back to sleep, alright?” Hop’s knees pop as he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed so he’s sitting next to Will. Close enough to tentatively rub a hand in circles on the boy’s back but not so close as to make him uncomfortable. He notices El is still looking at them, and he wonders if he sees a tint of jealousy in her eyes. He leaves his hand on Will's back but stops the circular motions. “You all right, buddy?”

“Could-couldn’t breathe.” Will pants. “I was back...there...and couldn’t breathe." His eyes take on a faraway look. "Or see. Everything was dark. W-where’s my mom?”

“She’s probably just going to the bathroom, kid, I -“ He’s interrupted by the door being flung open and a frazzled, half-dressed Joyce soaring through it. 

“Will, baby, I’m here! What is it, sweetie? Do you need to go to the hospital???” 

She’s quite the sight to behold. Her hair is half-rinsed of shampoo and is dripping all over the carpet and down her face, leaving sudsy trails down her temples. Her thin bathrobe is nearly soaked through meaning she took no time to dry herself. She bends over in front of him and takes his face in her wet hands. “Baby, talk to me.”

“I had a dream. I-I’m okay, I just…couldn’t find you.” The last three words of the sentence are spoken in a squeaky, high-pitched voice as he dissolves into tears. “Mommy…”

Hopper stands up, suddenly feeling like he's intruding, and Joyce immediately, gratefully, takes his spot on the bed. She wraps her arms so tightly around her boy that she catches herself and loosens her grip so he doesn’t suffocate.

“I love you so, so, so much, baby.” She presses her lips to her son’s head and leaves them there for a good ten seconds, rocking him ever so slightly back and forth. Will continues to cry and grips his mother’s bathrobe, an action that reminds him of being home sick from school as a small child. During winter months, Joyce would always put her bathrobe on over her work clothes to stay warm during the hour or so before she left the house. She would invariably still be wearing it at the time Will would wake up not feeling well, and she’d sit on the edge of his bed and hold a thermometer under his tongue and the robe always smelled like whatever products she used during her morning routine. He’s always associated it with feelings of comfort and love, and his last few tears begin to dry on his cheeks.

He’s tempted to stick his thumb in his mouth and go right back to sleep against his mother but he stopped doing that three years ago and knows he’ll get teased by the guys if he picks up the habit again.

“I want you to promise me, baby, promise me, that if you think, for any reason, that you need to go to the hospital, that you’ll tell us. Day or night. Tell me or Hop or Jonathan or Nancy and we’ll take you.”

“No no no hospital. Please, mom.”

“Will, we’re not taking you right now. I just want you to know that if you really don’t feel well, for whatever reason, and think you need a hospital, then please please tell one of us. Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.” He looks contemplative, then - well as contemplative as an exhausted 13-year-old can look.

“What is it, baby?” 

“Can you sleep with me? I-I feel safer with you next to me. I don’t like being in the dark.”

“You’ve got El to keep you company, baby. And it’s time for me to get up, anyway. Start making us all some breakfast.”

“I want you, not breakfast. There’s lots of room, see?” He slides over into the middle of the king-sized bed, which is so large there’s still at least a foot and a half of space between him and El.

Joyce gives in, climbing into the bed, soapy hair and drenched bathrobe and all, and once she’s settled she wraps an arm around her son, who scoots backwards against her so she can spoon him. Before falling asleep she remembers Hop and lifts her head from the pillow. She was going to invite him to join the party but when she sees that he’s already fast asleep again in his chair with his mouth hanging open she decides it’s best to let him be.

Another time, perhaps, she thinks to herself.


	5. Needy

The Byers’ House  
1:53 PM

“Shit. Shit.” Joyce swears as blood runs from the girl’s nose and chin and then down her wet neck, where it splits off into tiny rivulets before tinting the bathwater pink. It’s not too too bad of a bleed - at least, not like last night - but it’s more than what she’s used to. The blood is a brighter red and thinner, and not as sluggish as one of her ordinary bleeds. And it's coming from both nostrils, just like last night.

She reaches behind her and tries to single-handedly yank a fistful of toilet paper from the roll, but she doesn’t get a good tear and the roll spins and tons of paper coil out onto the bathroom floor. On a normal day it would piss her off to no end, but some extra absorbency is called for right now.

She turns back to the tub to find El crying.

“Nono, sweetie, no crying, okay? Crying will make the blood runnier and harder to clot.” She stuffs the wad of toilet paper under the girl’s nose and holds it there. “I didn’t mean to say that bad word.” Shit, she says again, to herself this time. Has El been in the tub long enough? No way of telling for sure - she can’t take her temperature right now - at least not orally - with her nose bleeding like it is. 

Wait - armpit? Not as accurate but at least it’ll give them some sort of reading.

“Sweetie, hold this to your nose, okay? I’m just gonna take your temp to see if we can get you out of this tub. I know it’s tough but try not to cry, okay?” She stands up and retrieves the thermometer from the drawer next to the sink.

Of course, being told not to cry, even in the gentlest manner possible, is almost always sure to put the waterworks into full gear, so El’s tears come out at a faster rate. She flinches almost violently when Joyce gently raises her arm up towards the ceiling and then lowers it again around a cold thermometer. The wad of toilet paper has shrunken in size but increased in weight as the blood has been absorbed into it. “Keep your arm like this, don’t move it, okay? You’re gonna be fine, sweetie.” 

Joyce waddles on her knees to the toilet and removes the entire roll of toilet paper from the holder, tearing off another wad which she swaps with the sodden one, a steady stream of blood running from El’s nose and dripping into the water during the switch.

Shit shit shit.

“Tilt your head down.” She looks at her watch, removes the thermometer from the girl’s underarm and reads it. 100.1. Good enough. The poor girl is getting more upset by the minute.

“Hop?” El chokes out through blood and tears.

Joyce pets her wet hair and tries to breathe through her own anxiety. Yeah, probably a good time to bring Hop in; she’s not confident in her ability to get the girl out of the tub safely now that she’s very likely going to be dizzy upon standing. “You want your dad, sweetie?” El nods. 

“Hey, Hop?”

The door opens immediately after Joyce shouts his name, and it’s pretty clear from the look on the man’s face that he had been in the hallway this whole time, perfecting his worried dad pace.

“Shit.” Is the first word out of his mouth when he sees the pink bathwater and a very upset El holding her arms out to him with blood streaking her face and neck. He bends over so he can take both of her little hands in his then pauses, looking at Joyce, and before he can ask the question she supplies the answer.

“She’s at 100.1. Still a fever but it’s as good as we’re gonna get.”

Hopper wastes no time. “Alright, she’s comin’ out.” The look on his face says “why didn’t you call me in sooner?” but he opts instead for “Uh, get a towel ready, will ya?” He’s kneeling now so he’s face to face with El. “Hey, kiddo, you don’t look so hot.” He lets go of her hands and places one of his on top of her wet hair, peeling the wad of toilet tissue away from her nose with the other. “You tired, sweetie?”

She responds with a tiny shrug of her shoulders, but Hopper can see the exhaustion in her eyes.

“You ready to come out of there?”

She nods and gives a weak “Uh-huh.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna get you out.” He stands up, then, bends over and hooks his hands under her armpits. “Grab onto my shoulders, kid. Atta girl. Here we go.”

Hopper pulls her up and out of the tub in one swift movement, standing her on the bathmat and holding her close to him as Joyce finally locates her largest clean towel and unfolds it.

“Wet kids are slippery, Joyce…” And this one, he thinks to himself, is considerably taller than the last time I helped her out of a bathtub. He feels a wet warmth growing on his shirt as she bleeds onto him.

“Patience is a virtue, Hop...” She wraps the big yellow towel quickly around El, who’s shivering violently. The towel is huge enough to go around the girl twice, and once the end is tucked in Hopper wraps his arms around her and walks her backwards to the toilet, sitting her on the closed lid. He grabs the box of tissues from the sink and yanks a bunch out, wadding them and holding them under El’s nose.

Joyce has unfolded two more towels, one of which she drapes across El’s shoulders, the other she uses to dry her hair and skin. El cringes as each swipe of the towel feels like sandpaper against her body

It takes roughly ten more minutes to get the bleed stopped, though to Hopper it feels like hours, and he’s relieved once he’s sitting on Joyce’s couch, his flannel-blanket-wrapped girl on his lap. 

They hadn’t bothered getting her dressed, both afraid of jostling her or making her move around too much, so they simply stripped her of the yellow beach towel and replaced it with a large, soft grey flannel blanket from Joyce’s closet. Hopper wrapped her up enough times that she no longer shivered, then he’d picked her up and brought her immediately into the living room, setting her down on his lap and just holding her.

She’d rested her head on his shoulder and is now fighting hard to stay awake.

“Hop.”

“Yeah, kid?” The man replies softly, rubbing slow circles into her back.

“Nothing.”

Hop smiles, realizing she must have just wanted to say his name. She pulls an arm free of the blankets and begins to absentmindedly fiddle with the breast pocket of the strange blue shirt she’s never seen him wear before. She only has the energy to fiddle for a few minutes, though, and Hopper slides her arm back into her blanket cocoon when she seems about to fall asleep.

He kisses her on the forehead and thinks about how glad he is to have his little girl back. In the truck when he’d told El her punk look was kind of “cool”, he’d been humoring her. In his head, he’d been mourning the loss of the sweet little thing he’d grown to love over the past year. The overall-wearing child with curly hair who sucks her thumb and loves her pajamas with the tiny flowers on them. The 13-year-old who insists on being read to every night and calls for him when she has nightmares. The girl who thinks it’s funny to put her teeny feet in his massive slippers and trot around the cabin in them.

Now, looking at her, hair drying into curls, breathing softly against his shoulder, looking so damn innocent and needy, he can say with certainty that his little girl is back.


	6. Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very dialogue-heavy. Hopper and Joyce have a lot to discuss...and argue about.

The Byers’ House  
5:32 PM

“Who was on the phone?” Hopper asks, drying his hands on a dish towel.

Joyce is tempted to lie and say “wrong number” because she knows what Hopper’s reaction is going to be, but he’d never believe that she spent the past five minutes speaking to a stranger so she goes with the truth. “Nancy. Mike’s begging to come over.”

“No. Absolutely not.” He crosses his arms defiantly.

Yep, there it is, right on cue. It takes all her effort not to laugh; his reaction is so on point. Still though, Chief of police or not, he doesn’t have authority under her roof.

“That’s what I told her, but you know, last time I checked, Hop, this was my house.”

“Oh? Because the last time I checked both of our kids were running fevers and passed out in your bed. But sure, if you want a bunch of adolescent boys jumping all over your son then sure, have them over, and I’ll just take El home.”

Joyce sighs and her eyes roll involuntarily. “Hop, were you listening to me at all? I told her no. El is in no state for visitors - neither of them are - but she’s also in no state to travel, so please don’t drag her out of that bed just because you feel threatened by Mike.”

Hopper’s jaw drops and he holds out his hands, palm up, exasperated. “What the -? I do not feel ‘threatened’ by the Wheeler kid, so I don’t know where you got that from.”

“Okay, his name is Mike, and you need to relax.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed, Joyce.”

“No, you’re not, Hop. That vein in your forehead is throbbing - I can see it.” She pulls out a chair at the dining table and sits down in her own. “Please, just sit.”

Hopper just stands there, then says “I should check on the kids.”

“I checked on them ten minutes ago. They’re asleep. Sit.”

Hopper takes a deep breath, holds it, then releases it in a low sort of grunting sound. He takes the offered seat.

Joyce reaches across the table and rests her hand atop his.

“Hop. I know it’s not easy raising a kid on your own. Believe me, I know.” She curls her fingers around his a bit. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, not only taking care of a child but not being able to come to anybody for help.” She gives his hand a squeeze. “But I want you to know that you can come to me with anything. Now that I know El is...alive...I want to be here for you, okay? For both of you.”

Hopper squeezes her hand back and Joyce can see the shine of unshed tears glinting in his eyes. Not wanting to respond vocally at the risk of his emotions taking hold, Hop simply nods and takes a drag of his cigarette.

When he collects himself he finally says “I’ve uh, I’ve been trying to be better about smoking inside. Gotten pretty good at not smoking in air that she’s gonna be breathing. But man, these past couple of days...” He trails off.

“I know.” Joyce responds, her own voice cracking.

“Maybe it’s something we can work on together, huh? I mean, not necessarily quit but, maybe cut down, for our kids.”

“Sure, I guess. They say it’s easier when you’re doing it with someone. Kind of like parenting, I guess.” She sighs and looks at the ceiling in a not-so-subtle attempt at keeping the tears in her eyes. “You know, there are times I envy Karen Wheeler. Not just the house, the lifestyle. The husband.”

“Ted? I dunno, Joyce, he seems about as useful as tits on a bull. But, you know, do what you want, I guess.” He says, feigning disinterest. “I don’t think Karen will mind sharing him.”

Joyce laughs, then, loudly enough that she claps her hand over her mouth, afraid of waking the kids up.

“Anyway” Hop stubs out his cigarette, “can we stop talking about the Wheelers?”

“Hop. I know you don’t like Mike but -“

“Now who the hell said I don’t like Mike?”

“It’s pretty obvious.”

“Look, even if I didn’t like him, I’d have just cause not to. I’ve heard that kid’s name at least once a day for the past year.”

“And there we have the answer.”

“The answer to what? I’m not in the mood for riddles, Joy.”

“The answer to why you don’t like him. Hop, it’s normal for a father to be protective of his daughter. You remember what mine was like when Johnny Trumbull took me to the prom. The thought of El growing up and getting interested in boys is frightening to you.”

“She’s not interested in boys, okay? She’s 13. The Wheeler kid -“

“Mike.”

“The Wheeler kid,” he repeats more forcefully, “was the first person to show her kindness, so of course she likes him. As. A. Friend. None of this boyfriend nonsense; she’s too young.”

Joyce smiles. “Whatever you say, Hop.”

“You wouldn’t find it funny if you had a girl, Joyce. I’ve raised two of them, okay, so trust me when I say -“

“Hop, are you seriously trying to tell me, a woman and a mother, that you know more about girls than I do?”

“No, not about girls, but about raising girls. You having the right parts doesn’t mean you're an authority on raising girls. You've never raised a girl and that's a fact. You have sons so naturally your worldview is based on what’s best for boys.”

Did he really just say that? She would have loved to have had a little girl. Joyce wants to fire back at him but stops herself, knowing that an argument isn’t what either of them, or their kids, need. “Okay okay, can we just start over, please?”

Hopper pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shit, Joyce, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. We’re both tired. These past few days have been...” She trails off, staring off into the corner over Hopper’s shoulder.

They’re silent for a minute. Hopper looks like he’s thinking, then, his eyebrows furrowed, then it dawns on him.

“Wait a minute...when did Nancy go home?”

Joyce shrugs. “She slipped out early this morning.”

“And you didn’t feel it necessary to let me know? She’s what, 17? As far as I’m concerned everybody in this house is my responsibility, Joyce.”

That rubs Joyce the wrong way, for reasons she can’t quite put her finger on.

“I am not your responsibility, Hop, and neither are my boys. My kids, my responsibility.” She points at him and then at herself with her cigarette to emphasize her point. “And Nancy’s already left so at this moment the only one you’re responsible for in this house is Eleven.”

Hopper ignores the acid in her tone. “What about that Harrington kid? Don’t tell me he left, too.”

“He left with Nancy. Jonathan drove them both home.”

“Are his parents home?”

“Shit, Hop, I don’t know! Um...I guess?”

“He has a concussion, Joyce!” He pushes himself up from the table and goes into the hall, picking up the phone. 

“What are you doing?”

“Calling his house and asking to speak to an adult.”

“Fine.” Joyce huffs, slightly embarrassed, wondering if Hop thinks she’s a bad parent for not taking better care of Nancy’s injured boyfriend. She stubs out her cigarette. “I’m gonna go check on our kids.”

“You do that. Hello, Mr. or Mrs. Harrington, please? Steve? Are your parents home? They’re running errands. Okay, have them call me as soon as they get back. Yeah yeah, she’s doing alright. Thanks. Okay, bye.”

He walks into the dark bedroom where the two kids are sleeping somewhat fitfully in Joyce’s large bed.

“You speak to his parents?” Joyce asks quietly, brushing the hair off her son’s forehead.

“No, they’re ‘running errands’, so I told him to have them call me as soon as they get home. If I don’t get a call in four hours I’m going over and picking him up. Seriously, I’m too old for this bullshit.”

He crosses to El’s side of the bed and bends over, feeling her forehead and then cheeks with the backs of his fingers.

“Where’s the thermometer?”

“Hop, you took her temperature an hour ago. Let her sleep.”

“She feels warmer.”

Joyce joins him at El’s side and mimics his movements.

“No, I don’t think so. Hop I know you’re worried but I really don’t think her fever’s any higher. When she wakes up we’ll take it again.”

“Maybe I could take it in her armpit without waking her up.” Hop’s scratching his head, thinking. “How accurate is that? I think Diane used to do it with Sarah but I feel like it’s not as accurate as -“

“Hop.” Joyce places her hand in his back, comforting but commanding. “Relax.”

She expects Hop to ignore her, accuse her of trying to tell him how to care for his own kid - maybe even throw in another jab about her not knowing how to take care of a girl - and take El’s temperature anyway. He surprises her when he sighs, rubs his hand down his face, and tells her she’s right, before giving the small girl a kiss on the cheek and standing up again.

“I dunno about you, Joyce, but I could eat a zebra right about now.”

Joyce gives him an amused “what on earth just came out of your mouth?” look and takes his hand.

“Jonathan went out to that deli on Center Street to pick up some sandwiches and soup for the kids. They make their own chicken noodle from scratch everyday. You think you can wait until he gets back or are you going to eat me out of house and home?”

“Well how about we set the table and if he’s not back by the time we’re done, everything in your fridge is fair game.”

Joyce giggles and for just an instant Hopper is transported back to high school and a wave of nostalgia hits him like a train. He wouldn’t give up El for the world, or his brief time with Sarah, but he finds himself longing for those simpler times.

Before Joyce drags him down the hall towards the kitchen he takes one last peek at El, snuggled in bed, and his longing for the past disappears as quickly as it came.

TBC


	7. Soup and waffles

Byers’ House  
7:00 PM

The kids are upright for the first extended period of time in days, both looking sleepy, elbows on the table, heads resting on their palms.

Each kid is sporting a serious case of bedhead, and he would laugh had they not also looked so very exhausted.

El shivers. Both kids are still running fevers and received their latest dose of Tylenol only twenty minutes ago. Hopper takes off his flannel and slides El’s arms into the sleeves. She hugs herself and smiles up at Hop, reveling in the warmth it brings her.

Joyce places a steaming bowl of soup in front of El, and another in front of Will.

“Let it cool for a few minutes, kid.” Hopper warns, although he suspects he’ll have more trouble getting her to eat any at all.

“What kind of soup?” El asks groggily, rubbing her eye with the heel of her palm.

“Chicken noodle, sweetie.” Joyce responds as she takes a seat next to her son. “Do you like chicken noodle?”

El shrugs. “I think I do.” She doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.

“You love chicken noodle, kid. And this stuff is even better cuz it’s not from the can.”

“The can?” She turns to look in the direction of the bathroom and then up at him.

“No, kid, I mean it’s not from a can. You know, the shiny silver container that soup comes in. I wasn’t talking about THE can. That’s not where soup comes from.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

“Yeah. Very good.” He glances at Joyce, who looks like she’s having a hard time maintaining a straight face.

“El, how do you feel?” Will asks quietly, his voice hoarse, oblivious to his mother’s amusement.

“Tired. How...do you? Feel?” She struggles a bit with the sentence but Hop is proud of her nonetheless.

“Same, I guess. Tired.”

“You hungry, sweetie?” Joyce asks, combing her fingers through her son’s hair, trying to fix his bed head.

“Hmm, I dunno. Not really, mom.” He sounds almost apologetic.

“El?” She’s hoping at least one kid will eat willingly.

El shrugs. “A little, I think.”

“You gotta be hungrier than that, kid.” Hopper says, rubbing her back. “I want you to try at least a bit, yeah?”

El looks from him down to the bowl in front of her, which suddenly looks much more daunting. She gives a hesitant “Okay.”

She makes no move to pick up her spoon, though, so Hopper picks it up and places it in her hand.

She dips it shallowly in the soup and brings it to her mouth before Hopper stops her with a quick “Uh-uh blow on it, blow on it.” He takes the spoon from her and blows on it himself before handing it back to her.

He’s satisfied when she swallows the bite but his face falls when she puts the spoon back on her napkin.

“Gotta eat more than that, kid.” 

She shakes her head. “No.”

“C’mon.” Hopper picks the spoon up and ladles some soup into it, blowing on it before holding it in front of her mouth. “Open up.”

El shakes her head again, more forcefully this time.

“Yes. C’mon.”

“No.”

Hopper rubs a hand down his face, frustrated dad mode activated.

“Okay...want an Eggo?” He asks, fully aware that bribing children causes bad habits but more concerned with getting food into her.

El shakes her head.

“No? Your favorite food in the world?” This wouldn’t be the first time she’s refused an Eggo when she hasn’t been feeling well, but all of the previous times Hop at least knew exactly when she had last eaten. She won’t tell him when she last ate, and he’s beginning to suspect she may not even know.

Hopper glances over at Will, who’s not exactly digging into his soup with enthusiasm but has eaten at least several bites, none of which Joyce has had to get into him by pretending the spoon is an airplane.

Joyce looks knowingly at him, then gets up from the table and opens the freezer door, pulling out a box of store brand frozen waffles.

Hopefully El won’t be able to tell any difference.

“Joyce, sit back down, I’ll make it for her.” Hop starts to stand but she pushes him back into his seat with a firm hand on his shoulder as she makes her way to the toaster.

“Hop, relax. It’s five feet from the fridge to the toaster. I think I can manage.”

She slides two waffles out of the box and presses them down in the toaster, making sure the setting is low enough to keep them from browning too much.

She pulls out some butter and syrup then sits back down next to her son and smoothes his hair again, though it’s obvious that only a bath will rid these kids of their bedhead.

Hopper makes to rise when the Eggos pop up but Joyce stills him with a look. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “women” but Joyce ignores him.

She places the Eggos side by side on a large plate and sets it as well as the butter and syrup and a butter knife on the table in front of El.

“El?”

The girl looks up at her.

“You think you might be able to eat if dad has an Eggo with you?”

El considers this, then shrugs, looking tiredly at the plate in front of her.

Hop takes that as his cue and pulls the plate over to himself and starts buttering the waffles - going lighter on the one he’s intending for El, not wanting to overload her with fat when she’s not feeling well.

He drizzles both with maple syrup - the real stuff, not that fake shit he buys - and cuts into his waffle, sticks a huge bite into his mouth, and makes quite a show as he chews, hoping to entice her.

Hopper does this several times until he feels like it’s the right time to offer the kid some. He spears a much smaller bite on his fork and hovers it in front of her mouth. To his surprise El opens her mouth and lets him feed her. 

He hasn’t fed a child like this since Sarah was in the hospital. Before she wound up with a feeding tube he would spend hours coaxing her to eat after the nurses gave up. Then he’d spend the next hour crying alone in the stairwell.

He pushes the memory away and focuses on El.

She chews slowly and carefully.

“That’s my girl.” He cuts into her own waffle, then, and offers her a bite in the same manner. He doesn’t realize it but he’s holding his breath, worried that she may not take a second bite, that it may have been a one-off sort of thing. That happened with Sarah a lot.

She surprises him again by taking the bite and he releases the breath.

He cuts her entire waffle up into little pieces and Joyce places another fork in front of her, though she ignores it and picks up a piece between her thumb and index finger.

Hop says nothing, afraid she might abandon the food if he tells her to use a fork, but he’s going to make sure she resumes eating like a normal human being when she’s feeling better.

He finishes his own waffle in record time, amazed by how good it tastes, and stands up to put two more in the toaster, ruffling El’s hair on the way.

She picks at her waffle slowly but finishes it nonetheless. When the two new ones pop up Hopper brings them to the table and butters them in the same fashion as before. He isn’t even sure if El will want a second one but wants to offer her one anyway.

He catches Joyce smiling at him from across the table as he cuts her waffle into small, kid-size pieces. He drizzles maple syrup over the whole thing before pushing the plate over to El.

El takes a small piece and then pushes the plate across the table to Will.

“Do you want some?” She asks, and Hopper isn’t sure if she’s feeling generous or if she’s already full.

Will takes a piece and thanks El. He winds up eating half of the plate and Hopper notices El looks relieved.

When it’s clear that neither child is going to eat more, Hop helps them over to the couch and puts the tv on for them while Joyce clears the table. He hands the remote to Will who hands it over to El and tells her to find something good. Hopper gives El a warning, then, to make sure she uses the remote and not her powers to change the channel.

El rolls her eyes at him in classic daughter fashion but Hopper bends over in front of her and looks her in the eyes.

“Hey. I mean it, kid. No powers. You want to be able to bathe yourself tonight like a big girl or you want Joyce to have to help you again cuz you can’t hold yourself up?”

El frowns at him and he ruffles her hair.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You two watch some tv and decide who’s gonna take the first bath while Joyce and I clean up.”

He retreats to the kitchen and offers to take over washing duty, but Joyce doesn’t budge so he settles for drying instead.

It’s kind of odd but...nice, this feeling of domesticity, he thinks to himself.

Five minutes into washing and with several plates remaining in the sink Joyce turns off the water. With wet, dripping hands she walks over to the table and slumps into a chair.

Hopper misinterprets this as her simply taking a break and continues drying, but he quickly runs out of dishes to dry and turns around.

Joyce has her head in her arms and were it not for the shaking of her slight form, Hopper would have thought she was asleep.

When he considers it, though, he’s surprised she didn’t break sooner. 

He grabs the nearest chair and pulls it up next to her, as close as he can get while still keeping an inch of space between their knees.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong - he knows what’s wrong. He doesn’t ask how he can make it better - he knows that only time can heal this wound.

So he just sits there with her, one hand resting lightly, warmly on her back.

Eventually she speaks.

“I feel like I have no right to be sad.” She mumbles into her arms.

The statement is so inane Hopper wonders if he misheard her.

“Wh-what? Joyce, you have every right to be sad.” 

“I’ve just gotten my son - my baby boy, one of the two most important people in my life - back from the clutches of evil for the second time in one year. Yet I’m not happy about it. I mean, I’m happy, I’m fucking elated, Hop, but it feels wrong to celebrate and mourn at the same time. I feel like I can’t mourn Bob in front of Will because it’ll overshadow my joy at having my boy back. I don’t want Will to feel like a consolation prize. And I don’t want Will to blame himself for Bob’s death.”

Hopper doesn’t know what to say. He takes a moment to process everything she just spilled to him.

“Joyce, I’m only going to say this because I know it’s what you would say to me - that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

She lifts her head to look at him, eyes red and swollen from her tears.

“Nobody is going to judge you - nobody would even think to judge you - for grieving a loss and celebrating a life at the same time. Don’t bottle up your emotions. Let Will see your pain. I’m sure he’s in pain, too, and if he doesn’t see you express that pain then he’s gonna be confused over his own feelings.”

Joyce puts her head back in her arms and mumbles something that Hop can’t quite decipher.

“What was that?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know what?”

Then it hits him. Will doesn’t know about Bob.

“I haven’t told Will about Bob.”

“Okay.” Hopper takes a moment to think. “Um, when were you planning on telling him?”

Joyce shrugs.

“You want me to tell him?” He offers, though part of him hopes she doesn’t take him up on it.

Joyce sits up again and swipes furiously at her tears. “No. It needs to be me.”

“Do you want me and El here when you tell him or would you prefer privacy?”

“I - I don’t know yet. I think I just need a day to think about it.”

“Okay.” He rubs her back a bit before standing up and pulling his pack of smokes out of his pocket. He holds it out to her and she takes a cigarette, lighting it with the lighter she grabs from the middle of the table.

“Thanks.” She says shakily. Then, “Tonight. I think I want to tell him tonight.”


	8. Left Behind

Chapter 8

Hawkins Police Department  
12:32 PM

“Hop, Joyce Byers on line two for you.”

“I’ll take it in my office.” Hopper manages to squeeze his reply past the knot in his gut. The knot that’s been there all day, ever since he left the house, and just grew exponentially in size at Flo’s eight words. He shouldn’t have gone in today; it’s too soon.

His heart is slamming painfully against his ribs as he walks into his office and shuts the door tight. He feels like he could faint.

Deep breath, Hop, deep breath. She’s probably fine.

“Joyce? Tell me everything’s okay.” He says sternly the moment he picks up the receiver. 

“We’re all fine, Hop, well, I mean, I guess -“

“Spit it out, Joyce. What’s going on? Is it El? Will?” The knot is ready to burst out of his esophagus now.

“God, she’s…she's really upset, Hop.” Joyce sounds like she’s near tears. “I just, I can’t calm her down.”

The knot loosens a bit with the knowledge that no harm has come to El, or Will, or any of them, but remains nonetheless with the knowledge that his kid is distressed about something.

“Upset like how?”

“She - she won’t stop crying. She keeps asking for you. I’ve told her that you’re just at work but she’s freaking out. Will and Jonathan are trying to distract her with Star Wars but, fuck, I just don’t know what to do, Hop…I’ve tried giving her a back rub, I’ve -”

“Can I talk to her?”

Over the line he hears Joyce’s faraway voice. “El? El, honey, wanna talk to your dad?”

There’s a knocking sound as the cord is jiggled and then a small tearful voice on the other end.

“Hop?”

Just hearing her voice, upset though it is, allows Hopper to further relax.

“Hey, kiddo. What’s goin’ on? Joyce says you’re upset.”

“I - I’m sorry…” Her voice is thick with tears.

“Sorry for what, kid?”

“I’m sorry for - for…” She’s having trouble getting her sentence out, and Hop can tell it’s not for lack of words. Then she says something that makes the knot tighten again. “I’m sorry I’m a brat. Please don’t leave me.”

Shit. She thinks he’s abandoned her.

“El? Sweetie, listen to me. I had to go into work today. I woke you up and told you that, remember? I did not leave you. You hear me? I would NEVER leave you. I’ll be back in a few hours, okay, and we’ll have dinner and watch more movies with Joyce and the boys, like we talked about, remember?”

“But, I, I…I was bad. I broke the rules.”

“No, you weren’t bad. You broke the rules, yeah, but you weren’t bad, kid, you understand? You’re not a bad girl.”

She still sounds upset, though thankfully she’s come down from the verge of hysterics. “You...still want me?”

“Of course I still want you, kid! Don’t ever think otherwise!”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Can - can you come back now?”

He thinks for a moment and her loud, wet sniffle into the phone does him in. He sighs.

“Okay, kid. Give me five minutes to get my stuff together and then I’ll be on the road. Will that make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I love you, kid. Be home as soon as I can, okay?”

“I love you, too.”

“Can you give the phone back to Joyce?”

“Okay.”

There’s another clunk as the phone is passed over to Joyce.

“Hop?”

“I’m leaving in five minutes.”

“You know, under normal circumstances I’d say you shouldn’t give in to her but I’m really glad you’re coming home - I mean back - early.”

“Sorry.” Hopper says sheepishly. “She didn’t break anything, did she?”

“No no, all of my stuff is intact, it’s just, I don’t know how much longer I could watch the poor thing cry. It’s so painful to watch, Hop.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have come in today. Anyway, I’ll be taking off in five minutes, just gotta gather some stuff. Give El a kiss for me, will you?”

He hangs up the phone and rubs a hand down his face to compose himself before breaking the news to Flo. She’s not gonna be happy. She won’t say anything but he knows she’ll give him that disapproving look of hers.

He grabs the stack of files he’d been working on and rubber bands them together before reaching for his coat and hat on the hooks next to his desk.

“Sorry, Flo, but I gotta leave early.” He says, striding purposefully out of his office. “Yes, I know I’ve missed a few days but I’ve had some personal stuff to deal with.”

“Your mistress?” Callahan asks.

“If by mistress you mean my sister who just lost her husband two days after delivering their baby then yeah, my mistress.” It’s a horrible thing to lie about but he knows his deputies won’t ask questions.

“Sorry, Chief.” Powell apologizes for his partner.

“Yeah, sorry, Chief.” Callahan mutters at the floor.

“That’s what I thought.” Hopper swings his jacket on and heads out the door.

Byers’ House  
1:04 PM

The moment Hopper walks in the Byers’ front door he’s nearly knocked over by El, who flings herself at him and wraps all four limbs around him. Joyce is close on her heels, a shocked look on her face, holding her hands out as if to somehow steady the two of them.

“Jesus, kid!” He drops the stack of files so he can hold onto her.

“I’m sorry!” She sobs into his neck. “I’m sorry I left! I’m sorry I said I hate you - I didn’t mean it!”

“Okay, okay, relax, El.” He walks to the couch and sits down next to Will, setting El sideways on his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Joyce retreats to the kitchen to put on a kettle for tea. Chamomile, she decides. Will and Jonathan join her a minute later, deciding to give El and Hop some privacy.

“I’m sorry for being a brat.” El chokes out, burying her face in the crook between his shoulder and neck.

“El, we spoke about this on the phone, remember?” He squeezes her as if to reinforce his point. “I’m not mad at you, and I shouldn’t have called you a brat. I wasn’t thinking when I said that, kid. I was scared. I was so scared to find that you’d gone out and been seen by someone. I was afraid the bad men would find you. I don’t want you to be taken away from me, kiddo. I was so scared. So, so scared. Christ, kid, you're shaking.” 

He clutches her harder and fights back tears of his own.

Joyce brings tea in to the pair once it’s steeped, telling El to drink hers slowly.

“She threw up three times.” She explains to Hop when he gives her a questioning look. He immediately puts his palm to the girl’s forehead, feeling for a fever. “Still a low grade fever, Hop, but not high enough to make her throw up. God, she was a bundle of nerves.”

Hopper’s heart clenches. His child was physically ill three times today because she thought he’d abandoned her. Just the thought makes him want to vomit. Or slap himself. Whichever comes first.

A tear slips down his cheek as he kisses the kid’s hair. “I am so, so sorry, El.” He takes her left hand in his, then, and turns it so the palm is facing up. Sure enough, there’s four red crescent moons on her palm from her making an impossibly tight fist, something she used to do when she was extremely stressed. He'd bought her a stress ball, but naturally it was back at the cabin. 

“Oh, El, honey, don’t start this again…” He gently rubs his thumb over the marks then hugs her tighter. El lifts her head from his shoulder to rub her cheek against his own, his whiskers a comforting scrape against her flushed skin.

“You hungry, kid?” He asks after a minute of silence.

“Mom, can we get a pizza?” Will suddenly shrieks, sitting up in the recliner he had plopped down in not a minute before. 

Joyce frowns. “I don’t know, honey. I’m not sure your stomach is ready for pizza.”

“We don’t have to get any toppings! Just cheese! A-and I won’t put any red pepper on my slices! El, have you ever had pizza before?”

The girl shakes her head, wiping tears from her face at the exact moment Jonathan appears with a damp washcloth. He hands it to Hopper, who cleans the tear tracks from her cheeks.

“Okay, sweetie. We’ll get two cheese pizzas.” Joyce relents.

Will jumps out of his chair and runs for the phone. “I’ll call for delivery!”

“No!” Joyce takes a moment to compose herself. “No, Jonathan will pick it up. No strangers are coming to this house.”

The pizza is enjoyed by all, though Will’s eyes were bigger than his stomach; he barely manages to finish one slice. El manages a half slice, handing the uneaten portion to Hopper, who practically inhales it.

They watch The Empire Strikes Back and enjoy being able to briefly forget their problems.

El cries again that night, catching the attention of Will, who silently slips from the bed and pads into the living room, where Hopper and Joyce are sitting together - surprisingly close - on the couch, a late-night TV program droning quietly in the background.

“Everything okay, baby?” Joyce asks, hoping her son doesn’t notice her arm around Hop’s shoulders.

“Um, El’s crying.” He says, concern written on his face. He sits down in the spot the grown man immediately vacates, nestling into his mother’s side.

“What’s on?” He asks.

“Oh, uh, nothing.” Joyce fumbles for the remote control, switching to a channel she’s sure won’t have any crude jokes.

Hop enters the dark bedroom to see his kid lying on her side facing him, clutching his bunched up flannel, which is almost surely drool-covered by now. Her thumb is clenched tightly in her mouth.

“What’s the matter, kid?”

She shrugs with one shoulder and sniffles loudly, wetly.

“C’mon, talk to me.” He runs his fingers through her hair.

“Mmmmffh.” It’s said around her thumb, which Hopper pulls gently from her mouth.

“Say again, kid?”

“Wanna go home. Want my bed.”

“I know, kid, but the windows are still broken.”

“I’m sorry.” Her face crumbles and she hugs the flannel impossibility tighter as she cries harder. “My fault.”

“Uh-uh, not your fault.” He stops her in her tracks. “We talked about this, remember?” He rubs her back gently, soothingly, thumping it firmly a couple of times to get his point across.

“I - I help you fix the house. We go back sooner.” She suggests, reaching forward to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt.

“No. No, it’s too cold. I’m not having you out there in this weather. You’re going to stay here with Will and Joyce. I already spoke to Jonathan - he’s gonna come to the cabin and help me.”

“I want Mr. Bear and my pajamas and our couch.” El whines.

“I know, kiddo, I know. But you’re gonna have to be patient, okay? You remember what patient means, yeah?”

She certainly should. They discussed patience many times over the past year.

“Yeah.”

“And you remember compromise, yeah? So how bout we compromise? I’ll go to the cabin tomorrow and get Mr. Bear and your PJs, okay?”

“I go with you?” She asks hopefully.

Jesus Christ, he thinks, this kid is gonna be the death of me. He almost says yes until he realizes that if he brings her with him she’ll probably wrap herself up on the couch and use her powers to hold the front door shut or maybe sabotage their car somehow.

“No. You’re staying here.”

Her face falls but she smiles when he leans over and kisses her cheek.

“Go to sleep, kid. We’ll have Eggos for breakfast, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise, kiddo. Now close your eyes.”


	9. Chapter 9

Joyce walks into the living room, rubbing sleep from her eyes, to find Hopper on the couch with El on his lap, swaddled in a blanket.

“I thought I saw a light on in here. Everything alright?” She asks tentatively. “I, uh, I got up to go to the bathroom and noticed she wasn’t in bed with me.” She’s concerned; she thought the girl was on the mend, even after yesterday's freakout when she thought Hopper had left her.

“Yeah, we’re okay. She’s just a bit upset right now.” Hopper replies, sighing, bouncing the kid on his knee gently.

“Upset? About what? El, honey, what’s the matter?” She takes a seat on the couch next to Hop and brushes several stray curls out of the girl’s eyes.

“She’s not feeling very talkative.” Hopper sounds tired. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“She sick?” 

“She doesn’t have a temperature. She just, came in here about an hour ago and woke me up.”

“You must be exhausted.” Joyce moves her hand from El’s hair to the man’s back and rubs it in soothing circles between his shoulder blades. 

“I’m alright.”

“Put her back in my bed, Hop. You know she’ll be fine with me. Will moved back into his own room so I’m a bit lonely to be honest. And you can get some sleep.”

“No, we’re good here.” He yawns and then smiles wearily when Joyce gives him a look. “Really, I’m fine. I’m no more tired than anybody else in this house.”

“Hop, you spent all day in the cold installing new windows…”

“I had Jonathan’s help, remember? Well, until he had to leave for work. You should be proud of your son - he’s a hard worker.” 

“papa.” It’s barely a whisper. They almost don’t hear it.

“What was that, baby?” Joyce asks.

“papa…sister.”

“Sister? Did she say ‘sister’?” Hop cranes his neck to look into El’s face. “Did you say ‘sister’, kid?”

“chi…chi…”

“Shit? You trying to say ‘shit’? El, you know you're not supposed to say that word.”

“I don’t think she’s trying to say ‘shit’, Hop. Why would she say ‘shit’?”

“Jesus, Joyce, I don’t know - maybe she has to go to the bathroom? Why else would she say it? You need the bathroom, kiddo? C’mon, talk to me.”

“El, baby, what are you trying to say?”

“city.”

“City? What city?”

El opens her mouth to say something else…and then closes it. Instead she whines and tucks her head back under Hopper’s chin. He sighs in resignation.

“Okay. No more questions for tonight. Everybody needs to sleep.”

The front door opens. El flinches and Hopper instinctively tightens his arms around her. Jonathan steps into the living room and he looks around, confused. 

“Mom? Everything alright?”

“We’re fine, sweetie. El’s just having a bit of a rough night.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “Sweetie…it’s almost midnight. You were supposed to be out of work two hours ago. What happened?”

Jonathan goes red in the face. “Oh, I, uh, had to, uh…Mr. Johnson asked if I could work late…Trevor called out, and he had nobody to cover the last shift…”

Joyce knows where he was. He was at the Wheelers'. She pretends to buy his story, though, not wanting to embarrass him. She’ll talk with him later.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Did you have dinner?”

“Uh, yeah. I got a sub.”

“Did you have any vegetables with it?”

The teen rolls his eyes. “There was lettuce and tomatoes in it.”

“Well there’s some steamed broccoli left over in the kitchen if you want it.”

“You know, I’m pretty tired. I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“Okay, baby. I love you.”

“You guys sure you’re okay here?”

“We’re fine, we were actually getting ready to go back to bed.”

“Okay, well, love you.”

“Love you, baby.”

The young man retreats down the hall and Hopper grins at the woman sitting next to him.

“Working late, hmm?”

“Oh god, I’m not ready for this…” she flicks her hand through the air, “dating stuff.”

“Well he is 17, Joyce. Had to start sooner or later. And he made a pretty good choice in girls.”

“I know, Hop. He’s still my baby, though, you know?” She laughs gently. “Guess I’m lucky, though, having boys. When this one gets started -“ She indicates El.

“Uh-uh, stop right there. I don’t want to hear it. Not ready for that. She’s only 13.”

“I saw how she was with Mike. There’s a connection there.”

“We’ve been over this, remember? It’s puppy love. Nothing more. Let’s leave it at that. Time for bed, anyway. Whaddya say, kid? Ready to go back to bed?”

El just whines in response.

“I’ll take that as a no…look, kid, I’m sure Joyce’s bed is much comfier than my lap. You’re not gonna get a great sleep on my lap. You’ll wake up all grumpy.”

“no.”

“No? No what?”

The girl hesitates and then repeats “no.”

Hopper sighs and looks to Joyce for advice.

“Just pick her up and take her into my room. Once you put her in the bed she won’t want to get out.”

“Guess you’re right. Alright, c’mon, kid.”

El doesn’t make a sound as he picks her up in his arms, leaving the blanket on the couch. He follows Joyce down the hall to her bedroom. 

Joyce climbs into the bed and pats the mattress next to her, signaling for him to deposit the child where she lay earlier that night. 

He doesn’t expect the girl to have a meltdown.

As soon as she feels herself being lowered, El wraps all four limbs around the man and buries her face in his shoulder. She begins a mantra of “no no no no nonononono…”

“What’re you doing, El? You gotta let go, okay? You gotta let me put you in the bed.” Hopper tells her as sternly as he can muster.

“nonononono…”

“El, sweetie, it’s okay.” Joyce is sitting up in the bed now, arms outstretched, attempting to pry El’s arms from around Hopper’s neck. “Let go, baby, just let go and come to me.”

El begins to scream the mantra into the man’s shoulder - “NONONONONO!” 

The lights in the room flicker and Hopper is forced to abort the mission before someone gets hurt.

“Jesus! Okay, El, okay! Joyce, Joyce let go.” He straightens up, the girl still clinging to him, her bony heels digging painfully into his tailbone. “Jesus.” He huffs, collapsing into the wooden chair next to the bed. El is sobbing into his shirt. She’s pliable now, so he rearranges her so she’s sideways on his lap like before. What in the fuck just happened?

“El? El, you gotta calm down, okay? I’m not gonna put you in the bed. You can stay here in the chair with me tonight if that’ll make you feel better and uh, not wreck the place. Now hush, okay? Shhhhhh…”

“papa…” the girl chokes out.

“No more thinking about papa tonight, okay? You’re just gonna think happy thoughts, yeah? And you’re gonna have some nice dreams, and when morning comes we’ll make some Eggos, okay?”

The tears keep coming, though, and Hopper sighs. He wants to cry himself. He’s never seen El this distraught. 

“You sure she’s not sick? She could be delirious. Lemme get the thermometer…” Joyce begins to climb out of bed before Hopper’s voice stops her.

“Her temperature’s normal.”

“You took it?”

“Yeah, an hour ago. I think she needs sleep.”

“You gonna stay there, or move back to the couch?” Joyce asks from the bed.

“I’m too exhausted to move back to the couch.” The man mumbles, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the chair.

He doesn’t sleep a damn wink that night.


End file.
